


It's (Not) So Easy

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, male reader insert character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Five times you and Freddie hid your relationship, and one time you didn’t.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	It's (Not) So Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr @RushingHeadlong, and inspired by a fic written by @liliah39 on tumblr.
> 
> It should be obvious, given the tags and that this is a Freddie/Reader fic, but the Reader-insert here is a **male character** and absolutely not female.

Freddie kisses you outside the second pub of the evening, while you wait for the others to come out so you can all move on to the third. It’s quick and a little secretive, but the press of Freddie’s lips and body against yours is familiar even with the comforting buzz of alcohol clouding your mind.

The two of you aren’t boyfriends yet, not technically, but you’re falling closer to that point with every passing day. You’ve been hooking up with Freddie for months but lately you’ve stopped going home with anyone else, and you don’t think Freddie has had any other partners recently either. You kiss him for fun, not as a prelude to something more, and the many afternoons you’ve spent walking through art galleries or parks might as well be dates, even if you’ve never called them that.

You like Freddie, so much that it scares you sometimes. You think you might even love him a little, or maybe that’s just the alcohol talking. Either way, you lean in to kiss him again, because he’s there and you can, and your whole brain lights up in happiness when Freddie makes a pleased little noise against your mouth.

Roger is the first to come stumbling out, loud enough and drunk enough that you can put some distance between yourself and Freddie without drawing suspicion. “God, you take forever,” you say to him, as Freddie pinches a cigarette off of Roger and steals his lighter. “Brian and John planning on joining us at all?”

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” Roger says with an easy laugh, lighting his own cigarette off Freddie’s before stealing his lighter back.

You almost wished you smoked, just to give your hands something to do that isn’t reaching out for Freddie again, but you stick them in your pockets instead and keep up an easy conversation with Roger until Brian and John finally come outside.

You keep pace with Freddie as your little group sets off for the next pub, and if you walk close enough that your arm brushes against his at least the others are too drunk to notice.

* * *

Brian knows you’re gay. You’ve known each other since you were kids, and you still live together even though you’ve finished your degree and Brian isn’t quite sure if he’s continuing his doctorate. Coming out to Brian was as natural as breathing to you, and he accepted you as easily as you knew he would. Any spats that arise after you bring a partner home are always strictly noise complaints, rather than disapproval about your sex life.

Freddie lives with Roger, who “has to know by now, darling, I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.” You’re less sure about that, but you know you don’t have room to talk. You haven’t come out to Roger either, or John for that matter. You know it’s not as simple as it may sound, and you’d never push Freddie to do more than he’s comfortable with.

Still, by the time Freddie first calls you his “boyfriend” and you both agree that “partner” sounds better, it makes things a little awkward. When this was still casual it was easy to keep it secret, on the pretext that it was none of their business or you just didn’t want them worrying that adding benefits would ruin your existing friendship.

It’s a little harder now that things are serious because you find yourself wanting to share things with Brian like you always have, but you can’t. You’re becoming acutely attuned to the sound of Brian’s keys in the lock, and you’re starting to hate the press of Freddie’s shoulder against yours as he settles next to you on the couch instead of straddling your lap.

You tell yourself to be grateful that you at least get that much. Platonic cuddling isn’t unusual for either you or the members of Queen, and Brian’s surprise is merely due to Freddie’s presence and not your close positions.

“Roger’s down at the stall and I was simply _dying_ of boredom, dear, so I popped over to bother Y/N for a bit,” Freddie says breezily.

It’s not quite a lie, and you’re not the one telling it, but something uncomfortably similar to guilt settles in the pit of your stomach even as Brian easily accepts the story.

* * *

Finding time to be alone with Freddie is hard. If Brian is out then Freddie is bound to be at the stall and can’t get away, and if Roger is gone for the day then you’re usually at work. It’s more likely that Roger will spend an evening elsewhere than Brian, but there’s only so many times Freddie can call you to come over before you start to worry that Brian will get suspicious.

You steal kisses behind pubs or in empty corners of the studio, trade quick handjobs in bathrooms or abandoned dressing rooms after the others have already gotten changed. It’s frustrating for the both of you, but it’s a small price to pay to have Freddie in your life like this.

“When I’m properly rich, darling, I’m booking us a room at the Ritz for a week so we can have all the wild sex we want,” Freddie tells you, as the two of you lie half-naked in the back of the van after a gig. He’s lying with his head on your chest, fingers dancing along your skin until you lace your fingers with his to stop him.

You chuckle a little, but know that Freddie is deadly serious about this promise no matter how flippant he sounds about it now. “We could aim for something a little less lavish in the meantime. Go down to Brighton for a weekend when the weather gets nice.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds absolutely lovely, let’s do it!” Freddie says, as if it really would be that easy. As if Queen wouldn’t have a dozen gigs lined up every weekend by then, or as if either of you could even afford a weekend by the seaside anyway.

But the daydream is nice, for the moment anyway, before you both need to make yourselves presentable and put in an appearance inside where the others are celebrating a successful show. You push Freddie against the van one last time, kissing him until his lips are bruised, and let him stagger back into the club first.

By the time you make it inside yourself, Roger is teasing Freddie about clearly “getting some”. You can see the small tells of Freddie’s discomfort, even as he laughs and jokes along and preemptively apologizes for the state of the van. You wonder if you’re a coward for offering to get the next round of drinks to avoid the rest of that particular conversation, but you decide that you don’t particularly care and beat a hasty retreat to the bar.

* * *

Every touch you share with Freddie is carefully considered, every gesture weighed for intimacy before it’s carried through. When you press Freddie against a wall his eyes keep watch over your shoulder as you kiss, and you track the movements of your friends like a rabbit watching a hawk circling overhead. You bring an extra coffee when you stop by the stall, just in case Roger is there as well, and if Freddie drapes himself over you in the studio he’s quick to show the same closeness to one of the others next.

But it’s not just those you know that you have to be cautious of. When you and Freddie spend an afternoon wandering the city, holding hands feels like painting a target on your back and dates are engineered to give you plausible deniability should anyone look at you with too much suspicion. Homosexuality may not be illegal anymore but that doesn’t mean that all attitudes have changed.

Neither you nor Freddie want to take on the world, but you think it would be easier to bear the charade in public if you could at least be yourself in private. But the longer your relationship with Freddie continues, the more impossible it feels to ever come clean about it. A few weeks of secrecy would be understandable to anyone, but as the months pass and the white lies build up you know that there will be a point where your friends’ happiness will be overshadowed by hurt.

The thought of confronting that on top of coming out makes you panic but staying quiet isn’t an easy choice to make, not when you’re so on-edge that the sound of doors opening unexpectedly sends your heart skyrocketing even when you’re alone.

“Something has to give,” you whisper against Freddie’s neck, the two of you clinging to each other for the too-short minutes before Roger comes back to the stall. “We can’t keep going on like this.”

“I know, love. I know,” Freddie says. You kiss him and it’s hot and desperate and _hurts_ , and when Roger finally returns it’s not long before you make an excuse to leave rather than staying a polite and friendly distance apart from Freddie.

* * *

You’re drunk. You’re _all_ drunk, you and the band, the five of you lounging in Freddie and Roger’s living room, empty bottles and the plates from dinner spread around you. Roger has claimed John as a pillow, who in turn has slumped against Brian, which means it’s safe for Freddie to snuggle close to you no matter that there’s an empty chair on the other side of the room.

It’s late and the lull in the conversation keeps stretching out, comfortable silence reigning as the liquor and the long day hits everyone at once. Freddie is more than half-asleep on your lap, and even though sleeping arrangements haven’t officially been decided yet, you decide that you’re too drunk and too tired to care what the others do anymore.

“‘m gonna get Fred to bed,” you mumble, standing up on wobbly legs. Freddie whines as he’s dislodged and reaches up for you with grabby hands. When you pull him to his feet you both nearly topple over, before you manage to right yourself and take a staggering step towards the bedroom.

“Y’need help?” Brian asks, though he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move.

You shake your head, and immediately decide that was a bad idea when the room spins even worse than it was before. “Nah, ‘s fine. I’ve got ‘im,” you say, and Roger mutters something that you don’t catch but that causes John to snicker.

Freddie’s bedroom is warm, his bed soft and inviting, and you’re thankful that you’re both wearing lounge clothes and not jeans so you don’t have to try getting undressed. You join Freddie under the covers and press close to him, and he gently cups your face as you kiss him. You take your time with it, making out slow and lazily, like you never get a chance to do anymore, your hips rocking against his even though you’re both too drunk to have any chance to staying quiet enough to actually get off.

Footsteps outside the door are the only warning you get before someone opens it, letting the hall light spill into the room. You and Freddie feign sleep, still cuddled close together, because they can’t judge your unconscious actions and moving away from Freddie is an absolute impossibility. The door closes again, and you can hears the soft murmur of voices on the other side but you don’t try to decipher what’s being said, because Freddie is kissing you again and nothing else matters but that.

“I love you,” you breathe against Freddie’s mouth. It’s the first time you’ve said it, and in the morning you’ll regret that it happened when you were drunk, but right now you just need Freddie to know how you feel.

His breath hitches and he doesn’t return the words but his soft, “We should tell them,” is enough of a promise of his devotion anyway.

* * *

You want to tell Brian first, because at least you’re out to him already, and Freddie wants to tell Roger, and neither of you know when you’re going to tell John but you know that needs to happen as well. And somewhere between conversations about who to tell when and how to say everything that needs to be said, you and Freddie end up in a proper fight.

It’s strange, because you’ve never really fought with Freddie before, not like this at least, with slammed doors and you storming out to leave Freddie alone in his flat, but maybe it shouldn’t be surprising. There’s been a tension building in your relationship the longer you kept this secret, and the pressure needed to be released eventually.

You still tag along with Brian to the studio the next day even though you’re out of sorts about it all, and it’s clear that Freddie’s not doing much better. He’s distracted and it’s so painfully obvious that his heart isn’t in his singing that hardly any progress gets made before the session is called for the day.

“Hey, Fred, let’s go for drinks, yeah?” Roger calls across the room as the band puts their gear away. “Maybe get you laid to pull you out of whatever this funk is?”

And you thought you had reached your boiling point last night, when you were so angry that fighting with Freddie didn’t even take the edge off, but it’s nothing compared to how you feel as you watch Freddie look up and steel himself to play along with Roger’s suggestion. You snap, like a rubber band stretched so far that it finally breaks, and you cross the room and grab the front of Freddie’s shirt to pull him into a kiss.

Freddie doesn’t freeze, doesn’t push you away, just grabs you back and deepens the kiss until you’re both making out in front of your friends and you don’t even care anymore.

“Right,” Roger says when you two break apart, breathing heavily but not moving away from each other. Not now, not after that, not when everything in your lives is riding on the next words out of Roger’s mouth. “So, clearly you don’t need help with the sex, then.”

Freddie’s head snaps up and he gives Roger an incredulous look. “Is that all you have to say?”

Roger shrugs. “What more do you want?”

“We might have suspected you two were together,” John pipes up as Freddie continues to gape at Roger. “But neither of you were saying anything so we weren’t exactly sure, and we didn’t want to push the issue if you weren’t.”

You catch Brian’s eye, afraid despite yourself that he’ll be betrayed by your long silence, but he smiles easily and says, “We’re happy for you two, honestly. And we’re glad you finally told us.”

“Yeah, but if you have sex while I’m at home I will kill you,” Roger says, the threat light-hearted and teasing. “It’s bad enough to hear one mate going at it, let alone _two_ of you…”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Blondie!” Freddie says. “As if I haven’t had to listen to _you_ more times than I can count!”

The banter continues as your group files out of the studio, the tension gone in the wake of how easy they’ve accepted this, and the normalcy of the entire situation is almost disorienting. You reach out and take Freddie’s hand, and he stops mid-sentence to smile at you, wide and brilliant, and you kiss him again in front of the others as if you’ve done this a thousand times before.

You haven’t, of course, but you have to start making up for lost time somewhere.


End file.
